


A Fall From Grace

by RainLily13



Series: Tests of Virtue [1]
Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 19:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainLily13/pseuds/RainLily13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a game of cat and mouse that Moriarty had enjoyed playing, but her time of toying with one Joan Watson had finally come to its pinnacle. There was only one question left. Could the ex-doctor, Sherlock’s guardian angel, do what needed to be done in order to save him along with a collection of precious lives? Bring herself to kill in cold blood, killing Moriarty along with her morals, ending it all with just one lethal blow?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fall From Grace

**Author's Note:**

> So, here’s an idea I’m toying with. I started it a while back, dropped it because I wasn’t sure, but decided, what the hell, I’ll post what I have.  
> I can’t remember the posts in particular, but I remembered reading discussions on tumblr mentioning the idea of Moriarty becoming fixated on Joan after what happened in the finale, and another with the idea that instead of Sherlock taking the fated ‘fall’, Joan would.  
> Here’s what I came up with. Probably unrealistic, but I tried my best to figure out something that would fit Joan but whatever, haha. I had fun writing it nonetheless. Maybe I’ll continue this.
> 
> Originally posted on [ my tumblr ](http://crazyfuzzyedges.tumblr.com/post/51945978365/a-fall-from-grace)

“Prove it to me.”

Joan shut her eyes, wishing not for the first time that this was just a nightmare as the cool, silky voice echoed in her ears. Then, she’d wake up in just a moment and Sherlock would be across the hall in front of the seven TVs doing his usual mental exercises with the volume at a low lull so it wouldn’t wake her up too early. And then, it would just be another day as Gregson or Bell would ring them up with a case, and off they’d go to solve another mystery.

“I  _will_  end it. I will end it  _all_. Just prove me wrong.”

She could feel her eyes stinging, but she managed not to let a tear form; to let it fall. It wasn’t a nightmare, she knew. Too real, but a girl could wish.

“Prove to me that you will do what it takes to save him, our precious Sherlock. And if not him, then your parents; your brother; your friends. I have said before that I have ears and eyes in many places—my reach is far beyond the comprehension of your imagination.”

As she registered the threat hidden by the reminder her mind went blank. Joan let her fingers reach and slide across the table; let them curl around the handle of the gun. Swallowing lightly, she picked it up as she stood, taking a step back before she pointed it at the other woman.

Without batting an eye, Moriarty peered up at Joan, the epitome of calm as the barrel of the gun levelled at her heart. “Do it,” the blonde dared, one slim eyebrow raised at Joan as she waited. Her lips curled into a smirk. “Surprise me.” She leaned into the table, taking care to leave her chest open. “ _Kill_ me.”

For five seconds, Joan let the gun in her hands point at Moriarty.

It would be one thing if Moriarty had come at her, attacked her, and Joan shot the woman in defense of her life. It would be in the heat of the moment, a split-second decision—it would be considered justified. It wouldn’t do a lot to assuage the guilt of taking another life, when she had once sworn to do what she could to save and preserve lives, but it was something she thought she could maybe live with and eventually accept and forgive herself for…after several sessions of therapy. Maybe.

But, faced with the reality that she just might have to kill another person in a calculated decision… She couldn’t blame it on adrenaline or the instinct to survive. Despite of the severe lack of choices presented to her, whatever she did it would be  _her_ choice nonetheless; a conscious, thought-out decision that she had made on her own. If she took the shot, she would be  _willingly_  putting blood on her hands, and that wasn’t a stain that could be washed off. Not for her.

Oh, she could live with the decision, no doubt. And in a way, it would be so easy, because it was her family and Sherlock and her friends on the line, and what was she to so many lives that she cared dearly for? But she would never forget. She would always remember that she  _chose_ to take a life, and she didn’t think there was any way that she could accept and forgive herself for it. It wouldn’t matter that she was forced into an impossible situation; the act would change her irreparably forever, because the fact was that she wouldn’t  _want_  to accept and forgive that of herself, for willingly taking someone’s life, when she had another choice.

But Moriarty had planned flawlessly, exploiting her weakness—her morals—and laid two choices before Joan.

She could shoot Moriarty like the mastermind wanted; trade in her morals to save her family, her friends, and Sherlock and have a death on her conscious and possibly spend years in prison. Or not, and let them die and have  _their_ deaths on her conscience.

Either way, Moriarty would win and Joan would lose in some form; lose herself, or lose her family.

Or…

Joan let her eyes shut once again, steadying herself, and as she did so, she remembered his words, so long ago,  _“If you could dismantle Moriarty’s empire in my absence…”_

She needed to take herself out of the game for them to even have a  _chance_  to win. She could trust Sherlock to carry on without her by his side every step of the way.

A deep breath and Joan opened her eyes. She saw Moriarty straighten, interest alighting her gaze, head tilting ever so slightly as the woman regarded her. And then, she watched as Moriarty’s smirk falter as Joan turned the gun on herself, the barrel pointed into her right shoulder, buried into the dark leather of her jacket.

_“Joan—no!”_

With a silent plea for forgiveness on the tip of her tongue, she pulled the trigger.

Moriarty watched in stunned amazement as the aftershock sent Joan convulsing; watched as Joan, who coughed and had blood dripping from the corner of her mouth, stumbled back; watched as Joan, eyes clouded with pain, looked her in the eye before her own shut and she crumpled, tipping over the bridge railing.

Moriarty stood there, staring in incomprehension. She only moved, twitching ever so slightly as a loud splash reached her ears. Standing, she strode over to the railing and peered over, her face a blank mask as she looked into the water.

She saw nothing, but that didn’t surprise her. With how long it took her to check, the body was likely already halfway on its way to the bottom.

Still, she stared for a moment, just a few more seconds, before pushing away and turning to the side. Her eyes landed on a figure not far from where she stood.

Sherlock stood no more than thirty feet away, frozen in shock and his arm still reaching out. His gaze seemed stuck on the railing where his partner had tipped over. His expression could only be described as positively distraught, absolutely broken, and wrought with shock.

To be honest, she couldn’t blame him—she expected Joan Watson to either shoot her or refuse; she had leant towards the former, hence the vest she wore under shirt. She did not expect Joan Watson to actually shoot herself.

Joan had made good on her dare—her final act was to surprise her, and for that, Moriarty felt a hint of pity now that the woman was dead. 

Stepping over to the table, Moriarty grabbed her clutch and pushed the chairs in before turning on her heels and walking towards Sherlock. The sounds of her heels clicking predominated the silence and as she passed Sherlock—who was still staring at the railing, still frozen—she did so with a passing, quiet murmur. “Game’s over, love.”

She left him there; didn’t bother to turn back as a black SUV stopped before her to let her in or even as it drove her away.

It didn’t matter any longer. Her past actions and the emotional distraught it brought failed to bring him to his knees and succumb to relapse, but now, with his angel gone to hold him up and steady him, it shouldn’t take long before he did so for real. And after that, he’d be of no use, no worry, and certainly of no interest.

Like she said, the game, unfortunate as it was, was finally over. It was time to find a new one, though she knew she would never find one as great as this.

 

 


End file.
